Murder in the Smokies - By Paula Graves Page 0,50

rose to his feet, holding out his hand to Ivy as an Eagles song replaced Lynyrd Skynyrd on the radio. “Take It to the Limit”—one of his favorites.

Ivy eyed his outstretched hand, her expression wary.

“Come on, Hawkins. Everybody can handle a slow dance. Even a clumsy little mountain girl like you.”

Her eyes narrowed with mock outrage. “Oh, now you’ve asked for it.” She took his hand and let him pull her to her feet, moving willingly into the circle of his arms. She lifted her chin, her dark eyes flashing a challenge he wanted more than anything to meet.

She had a natural feel for the music, her body catching the rhythm and making it part of her. And damn, she felt good in his arms. He wondered what would have happened if he’d stuck around all those years ago instead of leaving. When she was seventeen and he was twenty, would he have taken her to her high school prom?

Would they have been married with babies by the time they reached their thirties?

But he’d left. And those were questions that would never get answered now. Still, there were some questions she could answer for him, at least. Answers about the years of her life he’d missed because he’d left Bitterwood behind.

“Who took you to your prom?” he asked, bending closer to whisper in her ear, trying to remember some of the kids her age in town. “Tommy Adler, maybe? I know, Josh Belholland. He was always sniffing around you back in the day—”

“Who said I went to the prom?”

“The boys ’round here are idiots, then.” She felt warm and soft pressed against him, moving in gentle sways to the music. He felt his hand creeping downward, toward her backside, and almost let it reach its goal before stopping right at the curve of her waist. She was in his arms, one hand moving in light, shiver-inducing circles across his lower back. He’d be an idiot himself to do anything to change that situation.

“Maybe if you’d stuck around Bitterwood, you could’ve asked me.” She said it lightly, as if making a joke, but there was a serious undertone to her voice.

“I was just thinking about that myself,” he said, infusing his words with a smile. “I’d have been a little old for you at the time, maybe, but as we got older, it wouldn’t have mattered.”

She shook her head. “I’m not sure you’d have looked at me any differently when I was seventeen and you were twenty. Our relationship was never like that.”

“By that time, your mama pretty much hated the name ‘Calhoun,’ didn’t she? Remember how you had to sneak around to see me toward the end?”

“I remember.” She laid her head against his shoulder. He breathed in the scent lingering in her hair. “I still haven’t told her you’re back in town.”

“Afraid she’d forbid you from seeing me?”

Ivy looked up, flashing him a look full of amused consternation. “If she was smart.”

He brushed his lips against her temple as he pulled her closer. “Then I’m glad she doesn’t know.”

They danced quietly through another ballad, this one a plaintive plea for forgiveness from .38 Special. “I think I’d have wanted you back then,” Sutton whispered in her ear. “Lord knows I want you now.”

Her breath came out in a shaky little hiss as she lifted her head to meet his gaze. “Sutton.”

He bent his head slowly, giving her time to change her mind. But she rose to her toes, her lips parting as she curled her fingers around his neck.

Lights flashed suddenly through the conference room window from outside, painting the wall with bright streaks. Sutton turned in time to see a truck moving past the front of the building out of sight.

“We can’t be this lucky,” Ivy murmured, already moving out of his arms.

Sutton followed her out of the conference room and through the front door, his hand settling on the butt of his Glock where it nestled in a waistband holster behind his back. Ivy had drawn her weapon, moving fast but with stealth, angling her approach from the side of the building to maintain cover as long as possible.

A truck had come to a stop at the self-serve cleaning station, the back doors angled just in front of the drain.

While they’d been inside the building, the last of twilight had faded into inky darkness, punctuated by circles of muddy yellow light cast by the tall lamps that flanked the parking lot. Close to the building, however, darkness